


Like a Sinner Before the Gates of Heaven

by deeplyshallow



Series: Vampire JD / Vampire Hunter Veronica [2]
Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/M, I can't promise you this is as good as Chxrry's monster JD, JD POV, also there's smut, and I regret it none, but I can promise it won't be deleted as fast, he still eats people though, this is basically nearly 4000 words of JD simping over Ronnie, vampire JD, vampire JD is nicer than my normal JD, vampire hunter Veronica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deeplyshallow/pseuds/deeplyshallow
Summary: He thinks about her, even when she’s not around, follows her on nights when they have not agreed to meet up. There’s not much that is new when you have lived for hundreds of years, humans, vampires, even werewolves, are pretty much the same after your first century of existence, but he’s never met anyone quite like her, with the same determination, same passion for everything she does and the same utter love of danger that so perfectly matches his own.She might still be human but she’s always been more than just a mortal. Even if she is too much her own person to be his, he is hers whether he wants to be or not.
Relationships: Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Series: Vampire JD / Vampire Hunter Veronica [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192865
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	Like a Sinner Before the Gates of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a prequel to It's a Sin With No Name but you should read that one first.
> 
> dedicated to the super sexy bisexual icon chxrryb0mb (who may or may not have added this comment while editing).

A human should not be this tempting.

He watches her, unseen, from the rooftops as she corners her latest victims. Observes the slickness of her movements as she returns the pistol to its holster and gets out the stake, he checks out her ass and long slim legs – not at all hidden by the leather miniskirt – as she stalks towards them, and when she jolts forward to give them the final blow, her ponytail moves for a brief second, exposing her white neck. He can hear her heart, pumping the blood unnaturally fast around her body just below the skin. God, he can smell the endorphins from here.

He wants her. He wants her in every way.

The vampires don't last more than a few seconds, they cower beneath her power, shudder once when the stake hits their hearts and then they are gone. He snorts, _losers_. He's not saying he'd have won the battle, he knows from personal experience that she's fast and ruthless enough to keep up with the best of them, but he'd have put up a better fight than that.

She's not like the other hunters. He's run into hundreds in his time and normally they're no match for him, he teases them when he's in a good mood, hunts them back when he fancies some sport. True, some of them are a bit of a challenge, but none have ever got close to killing him. Until her. She's dangerous.

Honestly, he'd probably have tried to get rid of her by now if she wasn't so hot and willing to let him into her bed.

She caught him unawares the first time they met. It was a chilly night in early March and he was in the car park of a 7/11, having just left the body of a particularly delicious cashier slumped over the counter of the otherwise deserted store, (some fool had put a _come in: everyone is welcome_ place mat at the doorstop, which was plenty an invitation), when she crept out of the shadows, water pistol at the ready, catching him behind the bike racks, in an awkward corner between store and wall.

He managed to shield himself from the blast, covering his face with the sleeve of his trench coat and, in the moment before she registered she'd missed, he jumped forward and knocked the gun out of her hands. But if she was scared she did not show it. Instead, she took methodical steps forward, taking advantage of the power of the crucifix she wore around her neck - he couldn't touch her as long as she was wearing it - forcing him to retreat back into the corner, where he could not escape.

So, when she leaned forward to reach for her stake, he had grabbed the cross and pulled until the chain snapped. There was a sizzle as the holy metal burnt into his flesh, he threw it on the ground almost instantly, but the wound hurt like hell for days and the charred mark is etched permanently on his hand.

He traces it gently as he remembers, it still stings a little when he touches it all these months later. He quite likes it, it reminds him of her, like a tattoo – admittedly not necessarily the usual one adorned by a satanic monster, but he figures it's stylistic, like a human getting a pentagram inked on them, but more badass. Obviously.

He'd not given it any thought then, not even to the pain, simply shoved her against the wall, fangs extended, ready to rip out her throat. Her blood smelt fresh, she had not bothered with any garlic. He dived towards her to do just that, when he felt something sharp pierce his chest, and he glanced down in spite of herself. A stake, an inch away from his heart. When he returned his gaze to her face, her eyes were locked onto his, no fear, just determination.

The message was clear, _kill me if you want but you will not live to tell the tale._ He couldn't help but be impressed.

He froze, studied her with eyes equipped for the dark, she was just as beautiful then as she always is, brown hair haphazardly tied back in a ponytail, with loose strands sticking to the sheen of sweat on her brow, jaw set with a fierceness he had rarely seen in anything, rich brown eyes taking him in, as he was her, her pupils slowly dilating, and he knew that they'd just had the same thought.

"I don't like killing vampire hunters," he said, a smirk sneaking up on his face, "it's sort of like playing Russian roulette with no bullets." And then he'd gone for her lips instead.

Her shock hadn't lasted long. She'd carded one hand through his hair and rested the one still gripping the stake on the small of his back, forcing him even closer to her as she fought for purchase against the wall.

It had been quick and dirty, she'd fumbled with his jeans while he'd ripped her tights and panties, and then she'd been moaning in his ear while he gave her bruising kisses. She never let go of the stake, but he was pretty sure that she'd have been in no state to use it.

He left her panting and flushed, leaning slumped against the wall. He took the fact that he didn't feel the sting of holy water hitting his back as he made his retreat as a sign that it was pretty mind blowing for her too.

xxx

He stalked her after that. Well maybe stalked isn't quite the right word, because that would imply more success than he had. But he made sure to return to the musty carpark where they first met and spend his nights finding prey around the alleys he knew the hunters frequented, hoping to catch another glimpse of her, with her intense eyes and unseasonably short skirt.

But, though reports of vampires deaths in the area were getting ever more frequent, it took almost a month before she reappeared.

It was a drizzly night, cold and unpleasant to be out in even for a centuries old immortal being. He was planning to just get a quick snack and retreat when he turned a corner and there she was, clad head to foot in a skintight leather jumpsuit, no more than 20 feet away, gripping her gun with careful, clever hands; tense, alert, waiting…

If his heart had any blood in it he would have been able to hear it thumping in his ears.

He tried to move closer to get a better view, but apparently he was not stealthy enough for her, for she turned suddenly at his almost silent footsteps, gun raised. It was only the moonlight hitting his face that saved him from a somewhat timely but certainly undignified death.

Her breath hitched and she froze, water pistol still aimed at point blank range, but finger not pulling the trigger, undecided. He used what he knew might be his last few seconds to take her in, her eyes wide, small mouth slightly open. She'd look innocent if he didn't know better, he moved his gaze down to her tempting neck, there was a new crucifix, a bigger one, attached top and bottom by what looked like industry standard chains. He couldn't help smiling ruefully, no chance of trying to rip it off again. He was entirely at her mercy. He liked it.

With satisfaction he heard her heart race.

After a few seconds he took an experimental step forward, watched a slight flush colour her cheeks, and he knew, _knew,_ she wanted him too.

She couldn't have him tonight though. Tonight she stunk of garlic. He was flattered that their last encounter scared her into using it, but also - could she not?

He made his decision quickly, "Tomorrow, the Eagle Hotel, room 283. No fucking garlic." He'd get it booked, even if someone had already reserved the room he was perfectly happy putting down as much money as it took to ensure it was theirs.

She bit her lip, considering, and he was pretty sure she was trying to hide a smile.

He flashed his own, giving her full view of his extended teeth, "See you there," then, with a leap onto the nearest building, he disappeared into the night.

Once again, though she had ample opportunity, she didn't even try to murder him as he left. He was pretty sure that meant it was a yes.

xxx

He likes hotels, a sign saying _Rooms Available_ outside counts as an invitation, and even if there isn't one, a quick phone call where he innocently asks "Can I stay here?" sorts that out. He's eaten a lot of tourists in unlocked rooms that way and, even better, if he puts _Do not disturb,_ on the doorknob he can take as long as he likes.

That night though, he was after a different type of meal.

He arrived just after sunset, more nervous than he liked to admit that she would just not turn up, which - though he obviously didn't care - would be disappointing. But, the moment he entered the room, his fears were quelled. Indeed, for a second he was taken aback, after all, he was the one with the room key. But then he saw the lace curtains waving by an open window, and realised she must have climbed up and snapped off the window lock for the advantage of getting there before him. He was reluctantly impressed, the room was two stories up, getting in was quite a feat (for a human).

She was kneeling on the centre of the plush bed, gun and stake just in front of her, crucifix still tightly around her neck. But he wasn't paying much attention to her weaponry, not when she was wearing a low cut black leather corset, tied up with a blood red ribbon, and a skirt so short he can see her red lace panties beneath it, an utterly impractical outfit for hunter or… well anything but being eagerly ripped off really. When he finally managed to pull his eyes back up to her face she was sporting a huge grin (surprisingly predatory, given the situation), her eyes alight with mischief.

He stepped towards her reverently, already letting his coat crumple to the floor, but she sat up, legs spread most undemurely, and moved to the edge of the bed, the power of her crucifix pushing him back as she halted him.

"So, if we're going to do this, we need to set ground rules."

"Rules?" her idea of their meeting seemed to involve a lot more talking than his.

"Well, this is going to cut into my hunting time. So I need to be more efficient, I want names and locations of vampires, regularly."

He shrugged, "Sure." It was probably high treason but most vampires suck anyway (literally and figuratively) and it would give him less competition.

"And I don't want you to kill innocent people."

This one was more problematic, in a situation where she wasn't crossing her long, bare legs while sitting back onto her elbows on the silken sheets, he'd have dismissed it immediately, "I have to eat."

"I said innocent people, there's plenty of guilty scumbags around," she reached between her breasts and pulled out a list, double-sided, of names and addresses, "They'll get you started, do whatever you want with them, make it slow and painful."

He scanned it quickly, she wasn't wrong, there were enough people listed to keep him more than satisfied. Still he frowned, processing the information, "This feels like it favours you more than me."

"I have a stake," she said, unperturbed.

He hesitated for a moment and she leaned forward, so her breasts almost fell out the top of her corset.

"Ok." He said hastily, "We have a deal."

She smirked and reached around to take off her crucifix, tossing it carelessly on the floor behind her.

It was all the invitation he needed.

He pounced on her, pushing her backwards onto the bed, as she squeaked in surprise before recovering enough to grip her hands in his hair and pull his mouth, sharp teeth and all, towards hers. He was rough in his enthusiasm, his nails shredding the leather of the corset easily. It was a shame, he really liked it on her, but he'd been wanting her all month and she had made him wait a very long time tonight. Anyway, he liked the expanse of her breasts now free and open and _his_ much more.

She barely seemed to notice his careless destruction, instead focusing on removing his own clothes, attacking them with a ferocity that was impressive for someone whose strength was only mortal. She disconnected their lips for a second to focus on undoing his pants and he took the brief opportunity to gaze down at her in wonder.

She was not the first human to want him, nor even the thousandth. He knows his allure attracts people, it's simple vampire biology, he's used it to quench both kinds of hunger countless times, but it felt different with her, the way she looked at him was deeper than those silly girls whose eyes glazed over with one glance at his face (unaware it would be the last face they would ever see), she knew him, she knew what he was capable of and, despite herself, she loved it.

So he removed her poor excuse for a skirt and panties to show her how much he loved it too.

When he entered her it was rough like the first time, but it only made her pull his hair harder and moan loud enough that he's sure that she can be heard through the open window (he was pretty sure she liked the thought of that too), she grasped his shoulders and moved against him, ensuring that, even under him, she was in control of his pleasure and craftily wrapped her long legs around his waist to draw him even closer to her. He came, faster than he would have liked, with a hiss that was certainly not human, but she joined him moments after, gripping his arms tightly enough that he was half convinced that she had left bruises on his immortal skin.

He looked at her below him, hair splayed out like a halo on the pillow, eyes still closed in pleasure, face and neck flushed as her sweet smelling blood pumped fast, more tempting than ever, almost irresistible...

His teeth sunk into her neck like butter and, still dazed from moments before, she let out a little whimper at the intrusion, before it turned into soft moans as he gently sucked, her racing pulse helping the blood flow into his mouth. She tasted even better than she smelt; sweet, rich, complex, and for a second he wanted to continue despite the consequences, but then she let out another noise, almost like a purr, and he remembered why he could not, so he withdrew, gazing at her blissed out smile.

The smile lingered a second longer and then her eyes snapped open, and her face turned stern so quickly it gave him whiplash. She sat up, pushing him roughly off him, hand moving automatically to rub her neck, pupils widening when she felt blood, "Did you, did you just…"

She looked slightly lost, a little upset, and for the first time in, God he can't even remember, he felt an unpleasant twist in his stomach, "I didn't take much," he said hastily, eyeing the stake which had been knocked to the floor in their earlier enthusiasm, "it won't harm you and you won't turn or anything, it feels good for the human when it's only a bit…"

Her eyes narrowed, mind clearly fighting between fury at the loss of control and arousal at how much she liked it. The tense few moments dragged on forever.

"Ask me next time, asshole."

There would be a next time. He tried unsuccessfully to stop a smug grin from creeping onto his face.

She threw a pillow at him.

xxx

And there were many, many next times, they meet once or twice a week, exchanging lists of victims and then bodily fluids (or whatever is left in his undead body). He realised soon that she preferred trashy motels to the fancy place that they first visited together. It's a bit of a fantasy for her, a game where she can get a rush of secrecy and danger, every time she thinks being part of a secret society for killing mythical monsters is too tame for her. It's sort of ridiculous, but he's putting himself at the mercy of the only person in centuries who has a decent chance of killing him, so he's probably not one to criticise.

He thinks about her, even when she's not around, follows her on nights when they have not agreed to meet up. There's not much that is new when you have lived for hundreds of years, humans, vampires, even werewolves, are pretty much the same after your first century of existence, but he's never met anyone quite like her, with the same determination, same passion for everything she does and the same utter love of danger that so perfectly matches his own.

She might still be human but she's always been more than just a mortal. Even if she is too much her own person to be his, he is hers whether he wants to be or not.

He's cheated on their deal occasionally, snacked on the occasional stranger who smelt particularly tasty, just to prove to himself that she doesn't have his balls completely in a pouch attached to her belt, but mostly he's been good. When it comes down to it, humans are small creatures with fleeting lives, it hardly matters which ones he kills when they'll all be gone in a blink of an eye, but hunting down names on a list makes her happy and gives him an extra challenge. She's young and idealistic, thinks what she'll do will change the world, but he's seen it all before – even tried to do good himself once upon a time, but nothing lasts, time kills everything, everything except him.

She makes him feel like it might matter though. Her eyes light up when she talks about the people she helps, how she's made progress on helping someone move out of their abusive situation or the time she got a wedding invite alongside the message _I'd never have had the confidence for any of this without you._ He likes it when she talks like that, he's seen her naked and unarmed more than he's seen her clothed, but it's here when he really feels like she's exposed and vulnerable, when their nights together seem like so much more than just a series of one night stands.

He knows vaguely that there are other men in her life. He's spent enough time watching her to know that she regularly dates a frequently changing selection of men. He doesn't feel threatened, doesn't even bother giving into the mild temptation to kill them for wasting so much of the minuscule amount of mortal time she's been allotted. He's listened into her dates before, they exchange pleasantries, talk about places they've visited or their family or funny things that have happened at her day job, but there's never that smile in her voice that she gets when she teases him, nor the passion and fast gesticulations of her hands when she talks about something she loves. That, she saves for him, only him.

Even so, he asks her about them on occasion, and she always replies with a scathing roll of her eyes, " _my parents like him," "I needed a date for a wedding,"_ or " _he was a blind date, he would not stop fucking talking about himself._ "

"They don't satisfy you though?" He asked her once, in a moment of weakness.

"I'm here. Aren't I?" she saif, and pulled her shirt off over her head.

He doesn't feel the need to ask again.

He understands, of course he does, his entire existence relies on deceiving humans. It's about appearances, she hides behind these petty romances so no one knows about the vampire hunts, and then she hides him from the vampire hunters - it's part of the game she plays with the world, the thrill of knowing that she has secrets that even those closest to her don't suspect, and he enjoys being the only one to see all her layers.

No, none of that bothers him at all. What bothers him is the rival he hasn't had to face in millennia. Time. She is 24 and she is perfect, and in less than a minuscule 365 days she will be 25, then in the blink of an eye she will be gone, in less than half a century if she is unlucky. Even if she lives more than those pitiful fifty years, their time together will be shorter than that. He will have the body of a 20 year old forever, but she will grow and change, and every day become less glorious from the image of perfection she is now.

What when she grows fed up with hunting? When she finds a guy, a real, changing, human one, that she wants to share her smile and passion with? Will she become a wife? A mother? Will she look back at her days right now with fondness but no desire to return? Slowly the layers she saves just for him will fade to be replaced by ones he cannot access and, before he can stop to think, the Veronica standing before him now will only be a memory.

There's only one real solution to that. The venom floods his mouth every time he thinks about it, his body wants him to, even if his mind holds him back. He's not sure he could bear it if he turned her and she didn't want it, to ruin the girl with the fire in her eyes seems too much of a sin even for a creature destined for hell.

There are nights though. Nights when she holds him close, hot body moulded to his, when it feels like she wants more than to just play a dangerous game with him. Nights when he dares to believe that she could want to stay this way longer than her mortal life will allow her. Nights when he believes that God is not a vicious ruler who has marked his soul for hell, but instead lying beside him, allowing him a taste of heaven and he wonders how he has gone without her for so long, how he could ever give her up.

He turns his attention as ever to the goddess below him, still ignorant of his presence, the bodies have been shoved unceremoniously against the wall, and she is back on guard, watching, waiting, but he can hear no others nearby.

It's time to make his move. He takes a couple of steps towards the edge of the building, quiet, but not quiet enough, for she turns sharply, pistol, as always, at the ready.

He grins "You need to be more careful here," he says, "I hear there are monsters about."

She rolls her eyes, puts down the gun and reaches round to remove her crucifix.


End file.
